All My Tomorrows
by amerikanka
Summary: Being beaten up and almost killed by a gang of kids is a good catalyst for thinking about who you've become in life. Regulus Black uses this experience to reflect on the one woman he can't get out of his head.


Regulus Black lay in the alleyway and stared at the stars, wondering where he'd gone wrong. No, that wasn't entirely true – he knew exactly when he'd stopped playing by the rules and started thinking dangerous thoughts, but somehow having a busted lip and what felt like a dislocated shoulder really drove home the thought that he'd messed up.

A scrap of graffiti swam on the wall of the building behind his head. The fact that the damned words wouldn't hold still made him think that he probably had a concussion as well, but he tried to ignore it. Once the letters stopped dancing about like pixies, he read, "Fall in love, not in line."

Regulus couldn't help it. He laughed out loud, a cold and bitter sound. Almost immediately he hissed in pain, bringing his uninjured arm up to clutch at his ribs. Something had seared through him, sharp and painful, and he realized that he'd probably broken something there as well.

Or rather, they had probably broken something. He hadn't been expecting to get mugged, after all. He was a Death Eater from an ancient family, one of the noblest and purest in England. He was one of the chosen of the Dark Lord. So when a pack of teenagers ran up to him and subdued him with some devastatingly fast spellwork (the speed would make any Death Eater envious) and tossed away his wand, he'd been completely caught off guard. His wand lay about five feet away from one of his outstretched hands, but even that was too far to attempt to move. The kids had been screaming about something to do with the Dark Lord and one of them had attempted the Killing Curse. But he'd had tears in his eyes and his voice had been cracking, and Regulus remembered being able to tell even then that the kid didn't really mean it.

And, as his lunatic cousin was so fond of saying, you had to _mean_ them.

Bellatrix was going to be mad. Of that Regulus had no doubts – she'd probably call his loyalty into question for the millionth time, wonder out loud if he was no better than his brother, and maybe even hex him. She wouldn't cause any permanent damage, but Bellatrix had always had an excellent eye for the breaking point of pain and suffering.

He looked back at the writing on the wall, glared at it, wished it wasn't there. He had been in line his whole life, always doing exactly what was expected of him. He went to the right parties, listened to his parents, was a Slytherin who became a Death Eater... he'd always done his duty, except for one thing. He'd done exactly what the graffiti said – he'd fallen for someone and was therefore out of line.

It was small and would have been insignificant if his family wasn't what it was and _she_ wasn't who she was.

Unwillingly, her face appeared in his mind. Blue eyes deep and wild as the ocean, curls the color of molten gold in torchlight, a body strong and lean from years of Quidditch and riding winged horses but still curvy in all the right places, a face with a thousand laugh lines and full, rosy lips... she had always been the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. He had told her so once or twice – they had never been very vocal about their affection for each other – and she had just looked at him and laughed. "Reg," she had said the second time he told her, "you keep saying that, I might actually start believing it."

But even though she could have done so much better and they both knew it, she had stayed with him. They were opposites – where he had done his duty, she had fought with everything she had to be her own person. She'd been raised in a house full of laughter and sunlight, born and bred to speak her mind and fight for what she knew was right.

"Damn you," he whispered, affection and regret and envy in his voice. She had always told him to fight, to be better than he thought he was, to throw off the chains and be what he wanted to be. She had even offered to shelter him from the storm of his family's rage once. And he had been so close to taking her up on it, but he knew his duty. His life was full of duty. Her life was laughter and joy and pride and love, and his had always been duty, that cold, dry bitch of duty. "Damn you!" He said, a bit louder, speaking to the sky and the stars and anyone who was listening.

No pretenses here about what he was and what he wanted. Who could he pretend for now? Laying there with his back in a puddle and every inch of his body hurting, Regulus Black felt as free as he ever had been. As free as _she_ was. As free as she had taught him he could be.

A memory sprang up unbidden. She had snuck into a party two Decembers ago meant for his kind of purebloods and dragged him away from it despite his protestations, down to a little stream. They had made love there, a tangle of limbs and heat against the cold snow. After, they lay together on his cloak and covered by hers while he untangled her hair with gentle fingers and she sang.

Regulus closed his eyes against the remembrance. Her voice was so clear in his memories, low and husky and the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. She was bold and fierce mostly, but during those few intimate moments that he cherished she had been the sweetest and gentlest creature. He had always wanted to... still needed to... protect her from all that would hurt her, because he (and he alone, she had admitted to him begrudgingly) knew that she wasn't invulnerable. He knew that she could be hurt and she'd told him that that both made her irritated and happy. He couldn't trust anyone else with the task of protecting her because they couldn't possibly understand what she meant by that like he did, and no one could love her like he did.

Love. That word had never entered into their conversations. It was a scary, forbidden word because when it wasn't just the pair of them they were worlds apart. She fought against everything he stood for, and she stood for everything his parents hated. He had always thought that she and Sirius should get together because of that, but she had told him once that she liked him, Regulus, of all people, more than she liked Sirius.

And that was it. That was why he couldn't get her out of his head. She knew what he was, knew what he'd done and what he fought for, and yet some part of him knew that she would have him in an instant if it was possible.

He had tried to forget her. He had tried to drown her in a bottle of bourbon. He had tried to be angry at her, tried to be indifferent to her, tried to hate her for how she made him feel and how she confused him. But it never worked, because through all of the negative emotion associated with her was the fact that he knew she genuinely cared about him.

And she made Regulus feel like he was worth something, which was a feat none of his family had ever accomplished. He had saved her life once and she'd thanked him for it, but he still didn't feel like they were even, or she was in his debt. He had saved her life, but she had given him the idea that maybe someone actually did care about what happened to him, and that was worth more than a life.

_How can I hate you and love you at the same time?_ Regulus wondered. He sighed and for an instant he was back in the forest, his hands in her hair as she sang softly, the recollections of her voice piercing him down to the very core.

_And I'd give all my tomorrows  
__If I could just relive yesterday  
__I'd plant a million kisses  
__Upon your sweet brow  
__And darling, though you're gone  
__My love lives on and on_

For the first time in what felt like and probably was years, Regulus Black felt tears trickling down his face, tracing clean lines through the muck and blood. The stars shone down on him, beaten and battered and bloody in the alleyway, and he stared back at them, wishing desperately he could give his future to have just one more night by that creek with her. That night had summed up their relationship – forbidden and passionate and full of fire, but also tender and gentle. He wanted more than anything to be able to hold her one last time, tell her the things he'd never had the courage to say before, and kiss her perfect lips again.

His tears gave all the stars watery halos and his voice was choked and cracked when he spoke. He didn't know who he was speaking to – the alley, the chance that someone might be listening, his family, or her. "You know what she said to me once?" He asked. There was no response, but he kept going anyway. "I had asked her why she was so damn proud. She told me it was better to live one day as a lion than to spend your entire life as a sheep."

He rolled on to his side gently, as easily as he could take it without passing out from the pain. His breath hissed between his teeth but he managed eventually to get to his hands and knees and reach for his wand. As he touched it, warmth flared through him like the caress of a fire, and it burned like her kisses.

"She told me I was the lion's heart," he said to the street. A lamp flickered on and off a few feet away, but other than that there was no movement. "She said that even though Sirius, that damned Dog Star, was the brightest star in the sky, Regulus was the heart of Leo." Slowly, painfully, he stood, clutching his wand like it was his last hope.

He took a step, biting back a whimper at the sharp, lancing pain that coursed through his body. Another step. Another. They got easier as he progressed, making his way out of the alley. He patched himself up once he could lean against the wall at the end of the alley, mending his hurts and warming his cold body.

"Maybe she was trying to tell me something about being a lion," he muttered. "I don't know if she was right or not. I don't think I am a lion. But maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe I just have to try."

"Sir?" A feminine voice questioned. For one wild, glorious second he thought it was her, but then he realized even before he met a set of concerned and warm brown eyes that she would never call him 'sir' and his hope faded. "Sir, are you alright?"

The woman looking at him was a pretty witch, but nothing like _her_. Regulus looked at her, not having registered the question. "Sorry?"

She swallowed. "I... heard you talking to someone. Who was it?" She looked like she was frightened he was about to attack her, like she was second guessing her attempts to help, and he managed to crack a smile for her. She winced and he realized he must be missing some teeth as well. "You don't know if who was right or not?" She persisted.

He looked away from her and started walking down the street despite her noises of protest, then whispered the name like it was his last prayer. "Marlene McKinnon."


End file.
